The Old Lady flies
that he had one of the new, electrically driven ones that didn’t need
it.
I had the D.H. in a spin. Bob Brooks, riding with Russ, being let in
for all this frame-up! And the Old Lady doing all of her stuff! No
wonder Russ had exchanged glances with Conant!
At three thousand feet I got the D.H. out of the spin, leveled off, and
gave her the gun.
There were white bursts in the air, and on the ground below there were
more of them. I banked over, looking for the Old Lady. I saw one of the
circus ships going down in a steep glide, with a strange plane on her
tail. A ship was looping a few thousand feet above me, white bursts on
her right. Smoke was drifting all across the sky.
Then I spotted the Old Lady. She was going down toward the field, at the
shell-ripped end, with one of the Nieuports I’d seen right behind her. I
caught sight of two camera men, shooting up at her as she came down.
I dove the D.H. I was too surprised and too excited to get sore.
Anyway, it wouldn’t have done any good. The whole thing was plain now.
I’d always given Russ credit for having brains, but I’d never given him
credit for having this much.
They’d had ships waiting on some other field of course, and Russ had
guessed that we’d come after him. When Bob Brooks had said he’d fly
back with Russ he’d played right into that pilot’s hands. Two birds
with one stone! Not only would Brooks sit in on the sky shoot, but
he’d be right there for the crash--the big scene that Conant wanted!
I groaned. The D.H. was down pretty low now. I could see a ship diving
off to the side of the Old Lady, and in the center of the shell-holed
area were two more camera men, waiting to shoot the crash from the
ground.
The Old Lady was slipping off on a wing now, and I knew that Russ
was trying to hit the spot near the camera men. There was the fellow
grinding away from the plane at one side, too--still shooting the
fake battle.
I thought of Bob Brooks in the rear cockpit. He was helpless--it
wasn’t a dual-control ship. Russ had put the Old Lady through every
air stunt--and Bob had had to sit there and take it. Now he was in
for the crash!
It was a beauty! The Old Lady nosed right into what looked like a
fairly deep shell hole. Her propeller splintered, her tail came up. I
could hear her wings crackling, with the engine throttled down. Then
she tumbled over, upside down--and I groaned and dove the D.H. for a
landing.
“The old fool!” I said, and wasn’t at all sure that I really meant it.
CHAPTER VII.
THE ONLY WAY TO SETTLE IT.
When I got up beside the Old Lady, Russ Healy was leaning against a
wheel and smoking a cigarette. Bob Brooks was limping around, trying
out his left leg, and muttering to himself. Conant was standing near
by, and scribbling on a piece of oblong paper with a fountain pen.
“Hello there, rough boy!” Russ greeted me cheerfully. His head was
bandaged, and a medical-appearing gentleman was putting more white
stuff around his left wrist and hand. “Can the Old Lady fly?”
I grunted. She wasn’t as complete a wreck as I’d expected to see, and
there was a reason. The shell hole was filled with nice, soft sand!
“She _could_ fly!” I replied.
Bob Brooks limped over my way. “They put one over on us, Mac!” he said.
“They shot all sorts of stuff. They used our planes, their planes--and
then even used _me_!”
I couldn’t help but grin.
Then the red-faced, golf-togged Conant came over and waved a check
toward Bob. “This should help,” the director said. “We _had_ to have
your planes. Can’t use all of it, of course. You weren’t rigged with
guns and stuff. But it’ll help--in the flashes. Is it all right?”
Bob took the check, and I looked over his shoulder. We both gasped
together. As a check it was a masterpiece.
“It’s--all right!” Bob managed to say.
Conant chuckled. “Had to have the stuff!” he said. “Needed our
ships--all I could scrape together--for the cameras. Most of them,
anyway. Of course, I’ll take care of Healy----”
Russ grinned. Then his face sobered. He glared at Bob Brooks.
“How about it?” he asked. “Can the Old Lady fly? Does she get fixed
up--and do I sky-ride her with the outfit?”
Bob Brooks looked up at the sky, and I could see that he was thinking
back about four and a half minutes--to those stunts. He looked down at
Russ Healy again, and nodded his head.
“The Old Lady flies!” he said slowly, and that settled it.
[Transcriber’s note: This story appeared in the August 1, 1927 issue
of _Top-Notch_ magazine.]